


No Dead End In Sight

by yuletide_archivist



Category: The Long Walk - Richard Bachman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-24
Updated: 2008-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-25 07:40:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1639403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You all ready?" Ray asked.<br/>Pete shrugged. "I feel jumpy. That's the worst."<br/>Ray nodded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Dead End In Sight

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to anamart for the beta! Title from "Long Road to Ruin," by Foo Fighters. Some dialogue taken from the novel.
> 
> Written for zenfu

 

 

"You're coming by tomorrow, right?" Jan twisted her neck backwards to look over her shoulder at Ray. He tightened his arms around her waist and shrugged.

"I guess. What for?"

She frowned at him. "The Walk," she said. "The television coverage starts tomorrow. Don't tell me you forgot?"

"Oh." He shrugged again, shifted against the tree he leaned on, and rested his chin on her shoulder. She sighed and looked forward again, towards the pond at the center of the park. "Course not. Just wasn't thinking about it, is all."

Jan shook her head, just a little. Ray blew a few strands of her hair away from his face. "Mom won't let me skip class to watch it, but Anne and Maria are going to watch with me after school. Til dinner or so. You should come."

"If you want me to."

"Good." Jan shifted, then laced her fingers through his and pulled his arms tighter around her. "You do want to, right?"

"You're gonna be there." Ray kissed her shoulder. "Course I do."

"No, I mean." She glanced back again and raised her eyebrows. "You wanna watch, right? The Walk?"

Ray frowned and looked away. "I don't normally. I mean -- I listen to it on the radio, usually. And then watch the coverage once it's over. I like it more than way. Fewer distractions."

Jan watched him a moment longer, then shrugged one shoulder. She stretched to kiss him on the chin and turned back to the park. Ray kept frowning into the distance.

.

Black posters, with a ten by ten square of red dots, hung on the post office, the school gymnasium, the health clinics. The bottom right dot was white, and so was the text underneath: _THEY'RE WAITING FOR YOU \-- APPLY NOW_

Ray saw them every day for three weeks before he mentally shrugged and borrowed a pen from his buddy Andrew on the way to class. _LW_ , he scrawled on the back of his left hand. He filled out his application that day and forgot about it.

.

 _LOCAL BOY CONFIRMED WALKER_ , the headlines raved that morning. Ray stopped by all the town's grocery stores and bought two copies of each paper. His mother put one copy into a plastic bag and then into her closet, in the box with his first pair of shoes and a lock of delicate hair tied with a ribbon. She cut the articles from the other copies with her lips pressed tightly together and magneted the smeary newsprint to the fridge. The clippings were cut precisely and arranged just as exactly, so that thin, even slices of pebbled plastic door lined the articles. They covered the door and edged all the familiar clippings and photos aside. Whenever Ray wanted a glass of orange juice or to make himself a sandwich, he had to stare down small versions of his startled face in old yearbook pictures, and editorials praising his luck and bravery. 

.

Jan shook in Ray's lap as he mouthed along her neck, as he followed the curve of her leg under her skirt and found her panties -- soft, skin-warm cotton. He worked his fingertips between the elastic at one leg and the smooth skin of her hip, and then paused.

"Jan," he murmured, and flattened his hand to palm her hip. She panted into his neck for a moment longer, then turned and pressed their mouths together. He pulled her further into his lap, pressed his hips and his dick up into her solid heat, and rubbed his thumb in circles over her hip. "Is this --" He pulled back, just a little, and found her eyes almost shut, her mouth red and slick. "This is okay?"

He couldn't tell if she nodded or just wanted to kiss him again or what -- she tipped her head forward, just a little, and their mouths touched again. Elastic scraped over the back of Ray's hand as he pulled free of her panties, and Jan groaned against his lips.

"S'okay," she said. "Don't st--" She shuddered hard when Ray traced his fingers down the front of her underwear. She shoved her hips toward his hand. "Keep -- that, yeah, oh, do that again --"

Ray got a good grip on her hips, one hand bare on her skin and the other holding through her clothes, and flipped them on the couch. Jan settled underneath him with her head on a throw cushion. She closed her eyes when he trembled past her panty's waistband, but shook her head and pushed him away when he tried to pull them down.

Ray dropped his forehead to her shoulder and clenched his jaw while Jan rolled them onto their sides. She settled their hands between their chests, laced their fingers together between their hearts, and shook her head.

"I can't, Ray," she whispered. "Not if I know it might not last. If you're really gonna Walk, then --" She shook her head and turned her face away from him, to stare at the ceiling instead. "I can't, if I'm gonna maybe lose you."

.

Ray kept the box under his bed, directly beneath his pillow, until it was time to put them on -- just plain shoes, nothing athletic or fancy. He'd tried on endless pairs in the past weeks, and when he finally made his choice, June Andress at Andress Shoes gave him the pair free, plus a pair of socks. Ray slept above them. Sometimes, just before he drifted off, he thought about storing up rest in the shoes. Every night he spent above them was one more good association to take with him.

He didn't sleep much at all, the night before. His alarm clock, set for a time so early it was really still late, ticked loudly from across the room. A thin line of light shone under his door all night, and he occasionally heard his mother moving about the kitchen or the living room. Ray eventually gave up on sleep and tried to focus on the relaxed weight of his limbs on the bed, on the warm cocoon of blankets around him.

.

"You all ready?" Ray asked.

Pete shrugged. "I feel jumpy. That's the worst."

Ray nodded.

.

Pete worried about the backpack. It hung on his doorknob during the last week of April, and he traced his fingers over it whenever he went in or out of his room. Socks, would extra socks be a good idea? They'd be nice to have, but how would he put them on? Sunglasses sounded good, but he didn't want anything that could get shattered -- a hat, maybe. Maybe a jacket. Maybe a raincoat, aspirin, caffeine pills. He was pretty set on the hamburger, but how would he store it? He didn't want blood dripping out of the pack, down his legs. What if it spoiled before he could eat it? What if some animal came out of the woods -- fucking _woods_ in Maine -- and attacked him to get it? What if he didn't last long enough to eat it? What if, what if, what if.

.

"And what if you're back-up?" the reporter asked. "Would you think about the Walk differently if you knew you were back-up ahead of time?"

Pete frowned and considered. "Probably," he said. "That's probably why we don't find out if we're Prime or not until the very end. This way..." He shrugged. "This way it's something real, you know?" The reporter nodded and made a note on her pad. "This way, not knowing how it'll turn out, I mean, it's very real this way. Going through all the build-up just to find out you're the hundredth back-up hardly seems fair."

.

"You're really gonna apply?" Keith asked.

Pete shrugged. "Said I was gonna, didn't I?"

"I heard the application's a pain in the ass, and hardly any one turns out eligible."

"Then what's it gonna hurt?" Pete pushed his box on top of the stack, helped Keith line his up, and then they walked back to the truck. Mr. Richards nodded as they passed without glancing up from his clipboard. "Besides," Pete continued. "What the hell else am I gonna do, unload deliveries the rest of my life?"

Keith snorted. "You looking for something to _do_ with your life, or something to end it?"

Pete laughed and elbowed Keith. "Funny. You should come with."

"Yeah, yeah." Keith laughed as well, but he shook his head, too.

.

"Damn, McVries." Carl whistled long and low when Pete came inside and closed the door. "The fuck happened to your face?"

Pete kept Pris's bloody towel pressed to his cheek. "The fuck happened to _your_ face?"

Carl snorted. "Fine, then." He turned back to the television and pretended not to watch Pete go into the bathroom and check out the gash in his reflection's cheek. Pete ignored him right back and pulled the towel away carefully. A few specks of lint dotted his cheek, as though he'd merely cut himself shaving and tried to patch up with toilet paper, but the wound itself started to bleed freely as soon as the pressure was gone. 

"Shit," Pete murmured. He pursed his lips and pulled his mouth around. The movement made his cheek ache, and bleed more.

"That looks bad, man," Carl said. The TV sat silently now, but the lights still danced over his face. "I think you need stitches."

"I think _you_ need stitches," Pete called back automatically, then shook his head. "No, I'm sorry, you're probably right." He bit his lip, then put the towel back to his cheek and walked into the living room. ÒDamn. Can you give me a ride?"

"Busted tire." Carl shook his head. "Clinic's not far, though. I can walk with you."

.

Pris pulled herself back together on the couch while Pete poured them glasses of water in the kitchen. She'd buttoned her sweater by the time he came back and smoothed her hair back into place before she took her glass. She drank in thirsty gulps. Pete watched her throat rise and fall, and grinned at her when she slapped the glass on the coffee table. He drank down his own and put his glass next to hers.

"Coaster," she said, and tossed one too him. "My mom'll be back soon, and you know how she is about the furniture."

Pete slid the coaster under his glass before leaning back and gathering Pris under one arm. "So, what's our cover today? Project due? Quiz tomorrow?"

She cocked her head. "We've been watching TV, silly." She dug around the cushions and came up with the remote. The TV crackled to life and showed a few boys in the middle of a road, surrounded by enormous crowds. "The Walk, remember?"

"Course I do." Pete slumped a little on the couch, and Pris readjusted herself around him. He stroked one hand slowly up and down her arm. The crowd roared as one of the boys stumbled and then regained his feet. The camera shifted a little to focus on a soldier with one hand on his gun and the other on his hip, watching the struggling boy intently. Pete shivered but Pris didn't react.

"You ever think about doing it?"

"Walking?" Pete shrugged. "Not really. Looks cool, but you'd have to be crazy to do that." 

 


End file.
